


Best-Laid Plans

by AlwaysLying



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Open to Interpretation, Right?, arguably - Freeform, he's gotta reciprocate eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:41:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21887614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysLying/pseuds/AlwaysLying
Summary: Draco didn't know what it was about the sweaters.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Best-Laid Plans

**Author's Note:**

> Baby's first Drarry!

Draco didn't know what it was about the sweaters. 

Potter had never been _cool_ by any stretch, but now it seemed as though he'd fully embraced his frumpy professor status. As soon as the creeping autumn chill entered the castle, the thick, lumpy sweaters materialized around his frame like a cocoon -- emerald green, emblazoned with a large 'H' or a dragon or a pattern of snitches like the creation of some first year's proud, delusional mother hen; the only difference being that said first year would have buried those sweaters deep in the bottom of his trunk, instead of parading around proudly in them, a pastel shirt collar and Gryffindor tie peeking out over the v-neck, the sleeves rolled up to show off his toned forearms. It shouldn't have been attractive, and it certainly _wasn't_ … except for the part where Draco caught himself on numerous occasions with scattered images fleeting through his mind - cuddling by the fire, or lying on the couch with his head pillowed on that sweater-clad chest. It would probably be scratchy and uncomfortable, Draco told himself, but that touch of realism made it somehow more appealing, and he couldn't banish the thought from his mind. 

Seeing Potter every so often didn't help. With his rumpled hair, the scruff along his jawline, the slight touch of silver at his temples, and, of course, the idiotic way he dressed, Potter was looking more and more like some kind of storybook middle aged father -- which, Draco realized with rising indignation, he was well on his way to _being_. 

It was a horrible thought. They were in their early thirties now; their children - though not, unfortunately, their _mutual_ children - were attending Hogwarts together; Potter was settling into his role as some kind of fatherly mentor for all of his Defense students, having moved on from "Savior of the Wizarding World" to living the idyllic retired life denied to most child heroes; years and years had passed, and _still_ Draco hadn't gotten a single heated moment of passion that would have led to something more. Oh, he'd _tried_. Doors had locked themselves behind the two of them while they were in a room together; mistletoe had appeared above their heads when he'd visited Hogwarts just before the winter hols; he'd even invited the sorry bastard over for dinner on the pretext of discussing his son's grades. None of it had worked, and it was driving him mad. 

He'd try again soon. His wife had even given her tacit approval, provided he told her every detail after it was over. He rather thought she'd like to be invited, if this ever became an ongoing thing. He supposed he could live with that. 


End file.
